


question ledes

by warandrunning



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Gen, and the Sole Survivor has some trauma, in which Piper thinks she's hot shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9918881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warandrunning/pseuds/warandrunning
Summary: Question ledes are weak, at least according the Boston Bugle style guide Piper found stored in that old terminal. But where else do you start, with Blue? What else is there to say? No, this has to be the beginning. This is how it has to start:Who is she?





	1. not nobody

Question ledes are weak, at least according the _Boston Bugle_ style guide Piper found stored in that old terminal. But where else do you start, with Blue? What else is there to say? No, this has to be the beginning. This is how it has to start:

Who is she?

—

November 7, 2287

 

Piper wonders briefly about journalistic ethics and getting too close to sources—letting your front-page, above-the-fold headline crash on your couch has to be breaking some kind of rule, but, really, those are more like guidelines. Besides, she’s the only business in town, so she’s not too worried about losing readers to a more “ethical” competitor.

Anyway, Blue’s face is pressed into the couch, the fabric damp and dark where her mouth hangs open. And what kind of person would Piper be to wake her when she’s finally getting some shuteye? Jesus, she’s not a monster.

The woman looks different in sleep, fitful as it is. It’s harder to see the bruises around her eyes, and the worried lines forming in her brow and mouth are smoothed. But that’s not something Piper’s planning on saying in her story.

Then Blue twitches, her whole body going stiff. She whimpers, soft and low, and her face contorts. Tucking her pencil and notepad into a pocket, Piper reaches out—hesitates—reaches out, touches Blue’s shoulder. She snaps to, twisting to wrap a hand in a vice grip around Piper’s wrist. When she looks up, her eyes are round, pupils blown wide in—fear? Yeah, fear. Piper’s good at reading people. (Look, it’s not by brute strength or an overabundance of caps that she’s survived this long.)

“Hey, Blue,” she murmurs. “You okay?”

Blue closes her eyes, sits up, scrubs her face with her hand. She nods. “Yeah. Yeah. Sometimes I think I’m still thawing out.”

Piper takes a seat next to her. “Well, you were frozen for, what, a couple hundred years?”

“That I was,” she says with a heavy sigh and a tired smile.

When Piper dreams, it’s of column inches and the sound of the printing press and fidgeting anonymous sources hidden in shadows. She has a feeling that's not what Blue dreams about.

“You hungry?” Piper asks, saving the real question for later. No one likes to talk on an empty stomach, and Piper definitely isn’t above plying a source with drinks and food.

Blue considers for a moment, then nods. “Where’s a girl go to get some grub around here, anyway?”

One reader’s digest Diamond City tour later, Blue can officially consider herself familiarized with her surroundings, and they’re tucked away at a table in one of the Dugout’s darker corners. Scarlet pours two mugs of their version of coffee, which Blue tastes, then tactfully pushes aside.

She bumps her glasses up her nose and stares at Piper. There’s something infuriatingly charming in the crooked set of her mouth—like she’s always amused about some joke only she’s in on. “So. Our deal. Tit for tat—I help you with a story, you help me find Nick Valentine. You already have the basics; what else do you want to know?”

Piper meets Blue’s weird little smirk with her own best approximation of an enigmatic smile and pulls out her notepad and pencil without breaking eye contact. “Let's go back to the beginning, Blue. Who are you?”

Blue blinks. Once, twice, and she looks away. Her chest caves in, and she shrugs. “I’m nobody. Just a mom looking for her baby.”

Piper laughs. “Oh, come on. You can’t expect anyone to actually believe that. You walked out of a vault that’s been dead long as anyone can remember. You’re, like, the only bonafide human who knows what life was like before the war. You’re something special, whether you like it or not.”

Blue rolls her eyes, her whole head moving with the gesture. “People keep telling me that. Why does it matter? That’s all gone.” Her arm lifts, fingers fluttering in an imagined breeze. Then it comes back down to the table in a loose fist. “Nuked. Dead. Never coming back.”

“Except it did come back.” Piper leans in toward her over the table. “You’re here, aren’t you? And your son’s out there, somewhere. Two pieces of the Old World, resurrected into the new one. Who knows what else you’ll find out there? What else you might be able to tell us about how things used to be?”

Blue leans back in her seat, folds her arms across her chest. But when Piper peeks below the table, Blue’s feet are planted firmly toward her. Closed, but open. Detached, but involved. She just needs a little encouragement. Piper’ll crack her yet.

“You really want to know what it was like before?” Blue asks. She tilts her head, and her eyes glimmer.

“I want to know how it compares.”

Blue’s quiet for a long time. Her eyes are far away and her voice is soft when she says, “It doesn’t. Next question?”

Sometimes, open-ended questions get her the best quotes. The source just needs a little nudge, and they’re off and away, spinning a story Piper never could’ve thought up herself. Blue isn’t one of those sources. She needs a narrative. A point of focus.

“Tell me about the day the bombs fell,” Piper says.

Blue’s eyes flick up to her, then away just as quickly. “We’d been told it was coming for so long, we almost stopped believing it. I don’t even know how we even got a spot in the vault. My brother, probably.” She uncrosses her arms, one hand going to her mouth. “Jake. I wonder...” she whispers through her fingers.

Piper puts her pencil down. A brother? Of course she had a brother. (Older, or younger? Were they best pals, like Piper wishes she and Nat could be, or did they bicker, like she and Nat actually are?) And she had parents, neighbors, friends, a whole entire life. Then she lost it all in a blink…

Blue’s staring into the distance again, eyes glassy. When Piper reaches out to touch her hand resting on the table, she startles. “Oh! Sorry. That keeps happening… What was your question?”

“No, _I’m_ sorry. I can’t imagine how much this hurts for you.” She tightens her fingers around Blue’s hand. “But the more you tell me about what happened, the better I can write your story. People will respond to you, Blue. They’ll want to help you find Shaun.”

Blue turns her hand to squeeze back, takes a deep breath, nods. It comes out in bits and pieces, blurry at times and horribly, heartbreakingly clear at others.

Honestly, Piper’s heard worse. Grisly stories of rape and torture and slavery are a dime a dozen in the Commonwealth. Kidnap and a clean execution hardly qualify as breaking news here. But she always knows who the bad guy is: Raiders, Super Mutants, that pissant Mayor McDonough. Simple, predictable, practically writes itself every time.

Who’s the bad guy in Blue’s story? Who’s to blame? What comes next?

Piper can feel the little threads in her fingers, loose and coming apart at the edges, like her well-worn scarf. If she just keeps pulling—

She stands. “C’mon. Let’s go find Nick. Get you some answers.”


	2. burn your kingdom, carry on

August 30, 2288

 

Piper hasn’t seen Blue in—what, almost three months now? Dogmeat’s been hanging around plenty, and he seems in fine spirits, so she’s not overly concerned. Dogs have a sense for that kind of thing, she tells herself; he’d know if she was in real trouble.

Piper prides herself in not being surprised by much. She’s unflappable, a cynical, hardboiled reporter type. But when she sees Blue from across the market, carefully locking her little house’s heavy red door behind her, Piper’s startled by how she hardly recognizes the woman. Blue looks—healthy. Skin glowing, cheeks full, the outline of her belly and breasts pressing soft through her shirt. Nothing like the hollow, gaunt thing who’d limped back from the Glowing Sea, then run herself ragged hunting Shaun’s ghost all spring.

A quick series of expressions, like the flickering slides of an Old-World drive-in movie, cycles across Blue’s face when she sees Piper: surprise, delight, suspicion, anxiety, back to delight again.

She waves, beaming, and shouts, “If it isn’t the Pied Piper!” and she’s already halfway across the market. It’s unbearably hot, even this early in the morning, and Piper can see Blue’s forehead glistening with sweat, the neckline of her light T-shirt sticking damp to her skin.

“Blue! How the hell’ve you been?”

“I’m—” the short pause tells Piper infinitely more than the word that follows— “good, Piper. It’s so good to see you.” Her grin’s faded to that default faint smirk, and she tilts her head, sunlight catching on her glasses (a new pair since the last time Piper saw her). “How are you?”

Piper bats a hand. “Oh, you know how it is. So what have you been up to?” She briefly presses light, playful fingers against Blue’s arm. Her rich coppery skin is lighter than Piper’d expect, this far into summer. Someone like her should turn nut-brown in the sun. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Blue’s eyes slide away from Piper, and she chuckles, high and tight. “Yeah, I’ve been tied up with Minuteman business. Nothing too crazy, but you know how it is.” She doesn’t seem to notice she’s parroted Piper, and when she laughs again, it sets Piper’s teeth on edge. She knows what that sound is. That’s someone trying to keep a secret from a reporter. That’s a challenge, and Piper’s always ready to play.

“Really?” she says, light and teasing. “Because that’s not what I’ve heard.”

The color drains from Blue’s face, and her hazel eyes go wide. “You’ve—what have you heard?”

 _Bingo_. The pieces are there for anyone paying attention, and they’re slowly but surely coming together.

Piper laughs. “I was just kidding, Blue. I haven't heard anything. But now you’ve got me curious. What are you up to that’s got you all twitchy?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m… handling it.” She looks around, very obviously searching for an out. “Listen, it was good to see you,” she repeats, brushing her fingers against Piper’s forearm. “But I gotta… go now. Duty calls.” And with another weird little chuckle, she turns to leave.

No way. Nuh-uh. She’s not getting away that easy.

“Blue.” Piper catches her by the elbow. “Come on. Tell me what’s really going on here.”

Blue whines, low and quiet in her throat. “I can’t, Pipes. It’s—it’s better if you don’t know.”

“Even off the record?” Piper loves this game she plays, looking for answers, digging up the truths people try to hide. But it's high stakes. She searches Blue’s face, looking for a hint of the trouble she’s gotten herself into now. She can see it right there; she just needs to make sure. “As your friend? Please. Let me help.”

She watches how Blue’s expression shifts, contorting in some emotion she’s trying not to let spill out. “I found him,” she whispers.

That’s it. Only it doesn’t sound like it should. It sounds—broken, not fixed. It sounds like defeat, not victory. So instead of questions or “tell me more,” Piper says, “Oh, Blue,” and pulls her in, arms cradling her shoulders. Blue buries her face in Piper’s neck and makes a small strangled sound, arms winding around Piper’s waist in a vice grip.

Blue’s hair is smooth where Piper strokes it, clean and unmatted. Her body’s soft without armor casing her in, warmth bleeding through her bright new clothes. “You got into the Institute?”

Piper feels her nod into her skin while her fists tighten in the fabric of Piper’s shirt. She pulls back as much as she can within the tight squeeze of Blue’s arms. “Come on, let's get you inside.”

Blue nods again and sniffles mightily, one hand swiping at her face. Piper laces her fingers through Blue’s free ones and leads her to her house.

Blue’s got herself under control by the time they get inside, but her face, through the full cheeks and healed scars, is just… so. The words shuffle through Piper’s head, like a thesaurus entry. Broken. Defeated. Hopeless. Conflicted.

Blue curls up on the couch, knees to her chest, and Piper settles in next to her, turning so they’re face-to-face.

“You remember that first follow-up interview after we rescued Nick?” Piper asks.

Blue nods. Her creased brow says, _Where are you going with this?_

“I asked you what you’d say to other people who lost loved ones. What you’d want them to know. And you said—”

“Don’t lose hope.” The last word is a bare puff of breath. “I remember.”

It’s out of habit more than anything that makes Piper give Blue the serious interviewer look: sincere, patient, deep, searching. “What happened to that?”

Blue shakes her head. “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen.”

If she had a cap for every time someone told her that, she’d be the wealthiest woman in the, well, ‘Wealth. “So tell me. Where’s your son, June? Where’s Shaun?”

She looks Piper full in the face, and the pain of it squeezes her heart. “He’s dying.”

Piper leans in to take Blue’s hand; it’s limp in her grip. “Oh, pet. I’m so sorry. But… he’s safe? Cared for?”

“He’s a monster.”

Piper knows Blue’s habits, her little quirks of speech—half-answered questions, patchwork stories jumbled by trauma and emotional overload and Old World jargon. But even then, it’s not like Blue to call a child a monster—there’s something else happening here. They need to find the narrative. The focus. “You gotta fill me in here, Blue. Help me understand. What happened to Shaun?”

Blue meets her eyes again. “Piper, this has to be off the record. You cannot print a word of this. People will die.”

“Cross my heart,” Piper promises, breathless. This—this is news. The scoop of the century. The first person (well, that Piper knows of, at least, and Piper knows a hell of a lot) to get into the Institute and come back is sitting on her couch, ready to tell her about the shadow that’s been menacing the Commonwealth for decades. “Off the record” for now, sure, but it’s not like Blue will make her keep a secret like this to herself forever.

The more she hangs out with Blue, the more Piper realizes maybe she hasn’t seen it all after all. A son old enough to be her father? An army of synthetic people enslaved by humans? A sinister plot to “purify” the Commonwealth? Pure science fiction. The papers she could sell with this story would keep her and Nat fed for months, probably. She could retire. (Not that she would.)

There’s just that pesky off-the-record thing.

She breathes in deep. “Blue—”

“No, Piper.” Her honey-and-whiskey voice is breathy with exhaustion. “Please. There’s—too much at stake.”

“This isn’t like you.” Petulant, maybe, but Piper knows her reputation as the annoyingly relentless reporter is well-earned. Plus, there’s the added benefit of actually getting the story at the end of all that nagging.

Except this time, apparently.

Blue laughs without humor. “What, being a quadruple agent wrapped up in some conspiracy more convoluted than a B-rate political thriller? Or asking you to not print a story that would put hundreds of lives at risk?”

She gets up abruptly. “I’m sorry, Pipes. I really am.” She squeezes Piper’s shoulder, fingers warm and strong and heavy.

Then she leaves, and Piper doesn’t see her again until—after. If she had known what was going to come next...

Well. Piper’s too old for fairytales and what-ifs, so she leaves it at that.


End file.
